Delusions of Spring
by attheturnofthetide
Summary: IN PROCESS OF EDITING! Spring festivals, lovely weather, and Unky Thranduil's best maple mead... that's what the elves of Rivendell love about spring. But this year, it's cold and dreary, and as much like midwinter as it can get (in fact, Erestor still thinks it's midwinter... the twelfth month is not over yet). Will the sun rise as Greenwood's spring festival starts?
1. Sparring in Winter Weather

_I have, after close inspection of my own work, decided to edit this entire story. I would actually just continue it for laziness's sake, but the problem with being a perfectionist is that I simply cannot stand seeing spelling mistakes in my own work (I call myself a Grammar Nazi, yet mistakes still occur in my writing. That makes me extremely irritated with myself, as you can imagine.) And because it is nearly spring, I have the opportunity to complete this story in its proper season._

Chapter 1: Sparring in Winter Weather

Winter in Rivendell was a lovely, breathtaking affair.

That is, if one was not visiting at the time when one's feet would squelch into the soft mud, and when the sun and the clouds fought for the throne in the sky, and when one might accidentally stand under a tree that is loosing itself of its snowy cloak and completely ruin one's high and mighty reputation.

Which happened, by the way, to be forming the poor advisor Erestor's circumstances.

His beautiful plum-coloured robes were dragging in the soggy, nearly translucent slush, and his slippered feet were growing numb with cold. Speckles of snow clung to strands of his hair, a reminder of the trees behind him's sudden shower of freezing flakes upon his previously ink-black hair. Every time he lifted his foot to walk it would raise a thick layer of mud on his slippers. And whenever he set it back down again, his foot would sink nearly up to his ankle.

By Valar, things could not get any worse.

He scowled and made his way to the courtyard, where Glorfindel was sparring. Sparring in _winter_, the idiot elf! Sometimes he wondered if Glorfindel ever _thought_ at all.

"Hello!" said Glorfindel jovially when Erestor reached him. He put away his sword, still looking annoyingly chipper. Was there a good reason to be chipper in winter? Considering the weather condition, and the temperature, Erestor thought not. "Why so grim, book-brain?"

"The weather's bothering me," said Erestor sourly. "Why so happy, Balrog Boy?"

"It's a good day!" protested Glorfindel, grinning. "And besides, Lindir here's getting better at footwork. That's progress, I should think."

With mild surprise, Erestor realized that Glorfindel's opponent was indeed Lindir – a sweating, red-faced, frustrated-looking Lindir in a simple tunic that allowed maximum movement, that is. His hair had been tied clumsily back with a piece of twine that was threatening to slip out of its rapidly loosening grip. He dropped his sword and grimaced, stretching his arms slowly.

"Morning, Erestor," he mumbled, wiping his brow.

"What a shock!" said Erestor, when he could find the words. "You're sparring with _Glorfindel_? In _winter_? Never mind. Glorfindel, Lord Elrond wants a word with you."

"Eh? He does?" Glorfindel grinned. "He must be wondering why his daughter – " he gestured at a faraway figure hiding behind a tree " - is trying to tail me. Well, tell him that I have stunning looks that have improved through the ages. That should explain everything."

Erestor rolled his eyes, barely resisting the urge to slam his head into a tree. The only thing that stopped him was the fact that doing so would result in more snow dumped on him.

"No, not that. He says you short-sheeted his bed yesterday, and he demands an explanation."

Glorfindel's face fell comically. "Oh."

Erestor made a shooing motion with his hands.

"Get going, then."

He nodded at Lindir, attempting to keep the cranky look off his face (and failing miserably). "This morning's breakfast is your favourite: vegetable soup and cheese rolls."

"CHEESE ROLLS!" shouted Lindir, flailing towards the dining hall, sparring completely forgotten.

Erestor caught Glorfindel's eye and shrugged. He then followed Lindir's blissfully dancing figure into the warmth and dryness of the dining hall.

Cheese rolls, indeed.

.

Glorfindel emerged from Elrond's study looking quite disgruntled. His expression resembled that of a sulky child's, Erestor noted with some bemusement.

"What's the punishment?" asked Lindir, who, to be brutally frank, was stuffing his face.

"Setting the dining table for a whole ruddy month," grumbled Glorfindel, slumping into his chair with an impressive crash. The chair made a weak, strangled noise and Erestor gave it a sympathetic glance.

The punishment Elrond had inflicted on Glorfindel was no easy feat; the table was long, and seated up to a hundred elves depending on occasion. Not to mention, Glorfindel's way of setting the table was very old-fashioned (it was, in fact, Gondolin-style, which is now outdated and looked peevishly upon). And there was also the fact that the Balrog-slayer couldn't arrange flowers to save his life.

Not that there were any flowers to arrange. All the beautiful blooms of the royal gardens were still green, stubbornly closed buds.

Erestor sighed.

"I'm not helping you, if that's what you think," he said to Glorfindel, who was beginning to grin deviously, like he always did when he got one of those ideas of his.

"Oh, yes you are," Glorfindel said, gleefully rubbing his hands together. Erestor picked up a cheese roll, peering at it suspiciously, then taking a little bite. "Or word of your nice pink bunny slippers may _accidentally_ slip out, eh?"

He spat out a mouthful of cheese roll.

"By Illuvatar, you're IMPOSSIBLE!"

Which earned Erestor another smile that clearly stated, 'Mission successful'.


	2. The Advisor's Plight

_Second chapter! Very excited! I've been enjoying my weekend so far. Except for the Chinese homework. And the fact that I have exams next week. And the fact that I should be doing my history and English homework right now, but have elected instead to edit the second chapter of Delusions of Spring. _

_Happy new year! This newly edited chapter is dedicated to **Nircele** and **Lily Lindsey-Aubrey**, both of whom have reviewed on the original first draft of this story, and both of which are amazing, amazing writers and a great contribution to the LotR community. Have a great weekend, you guys!_

Chapter 2: The Advisor's Plight

So Erestor ended up setting the table for four days a week before the lunch bell rang, much to his silent dismay (and fury). It wasn't the most pleasant job, as he kept mixing up the placemats and using the wrong runners (_and_ switching the spoons and forks, _and_ tripping over the tablecloth), but he did NOT want the likes of Elladan and Elrohir to find out the truth about his bunny slippers. Besides, he liked to think that he was far better than Glorfindel at arranging flowers. It required a light touch and good taste. And an eye for detail. None of those which the Balrog-slayer had in his possession.

As he set down the last fork on one cloudy morning, a very excited Silinde, dressed in a blinding shade of mauve, skidded into the dining hall, screeching with uncontrollable excitement. As usual, his sleeves were about two feet longer than what was accepted as usual (indeed, Silinde's drooping swathes of cloth could probably fit two Middle-Earths within their silky clutches). Erestor might have gone deaf from the alarming sounds Silinde was emitting had he not perfected the gift of tuning out unnecessary noise (a skill he'd developed for studying in peace when Glorfindel was in the same room as him, but it came in handy once in a while).

"Well-met, Sili – _phew!_" said Erestor, blinking rapidly. In the grinning elf's hurry, he'd sprayed twice the normal amount of lavender scented water. Erestor's nose tingled unpleasantly.

"Hello!" cried Silinde, flapping his arms in the air. His sleeves fluttered feebly along. "_Wonderful_ news from a messenger hailing from the lovely Greenwood. There's to be a spring festival celebrating the turning of the calendar and King Thranduil's invited every sorry elf in Middle-Earth to attend! Oh, Valar! Once I had resented that elven realm because of a certain butler making nasty comments on my fragrance, but now life seems so sweet that Galion could pour a whole cask of wine down my shirt, and I couldn't even give two pieces of lembas!"

"I don't understand why you're so excited," said Erestor, grimacing slightly. Tuning out Glorfindel was one thing. Silinde - with the flapping and swooning and wailing and screaming - that was a completely different matter. "It's not like we don't have spring festivals in Rivendell, you know."

"Yes, but the _wine_!" sighed Silinde dreamily. He put one hand on his chest and another upon his brow, a dramatic expression upon his visage. "Naturally King Thranduil won't waste his best Dorwinion on his guests, but the Greenwood Winery makes SUCH good mulled raspberry wine - !"

"You're an idiot," Erestor informed him rather dully. "The mulled raspberry wine tastes disgusting. I personally prefer rose nectar or maple mead."

Silinde sniffed disdainfully, sleeves quivering in polite shock. "For an advisor, you have shockingly bad taste."

He skipped away, and Erestor flapped a hand in front of his face.

Someone needed to talk to Silinde about his perfume.

"AW YES!" was the most common declaration that day, followed by whistles, cheers, whoops, and claps of appreciation. It would have descended into impromptu dances of sheer, unrestrained joy. That is, if Elrond hadn't exclaimed that everyone was acting like irresponsible, alcohol-obsessed oliphaunts. _That_ shut them up.

At any rate, Erestor knew King Thranduil wouldn't put out any wine, ale, beer, or mead that was alcoholic in the slightest. This was half due to his wife's insistence. The other half, well - past… _incidents_ had most likely taught him a lesson.

Besides, funny as it may be to see the usually serious and law-abiding Elrond frolicking like any other elf, it did have its hazards, such as the time Rumil gave his older brother Haldir a generous dunk in the lake after consuming an alarming amount of damson brew.

Erestor had a suspicion that the March-Warden had never really recovered.

Despite his love of drink (and overwhelmingly sparkly fabulousness), the Elvenking knew very well how to throw a proper party. Erestor had been to two before – one when he'd been ambassador to Greenwood, and another time when there had been a banquet to celebrate an important milestone in Prince Legolas's life (which he could not recall). Both parties had refreshments, lively music, and laughter. But on neither of these occasions did he find the opportunity to wander deep into the palace; the two feasts were located outside in a large clearing. But he did want to attend - or at least, he thought he should want to. Heavens knew how much he needed to lighten up. Elrond often said Erestor shouldn't overwork himself, and often offered to find him an assistant.

But there was no time for relaxation or parties in his tightly packed schedule. Erestor had piles of paperwork to finish; questions and requests from Rivendell elves, their emotions ranging from exasperation ("It's the seventh time my witless brother dropped the china plates") to sheepishness ("I forgot to water Lord Elrond's daisies. They're dead as doorknobs now, and I'm very, very sorry")

Even with Erestor helping, Elrond still had at least a hundred letters coming in every week, and there was no helping it, frankly. The elflord had made a mistake in saying that everyone was free to make their opinions known, and now they were paying for it.

Erestor sighed. For Varda's sake, he wanted a vacation, he wanted to go away – away from the damp chilliness of a closely clinging winter, away from the constant squeal of his pen against paper, and away from the responsibilities he had to juggle every day.

If that was too much to ask for, Erestor would at least like a little moment to himself. A moment of silence. A moment of contemplation. A moment free of Glorfindels or Lindirs or Elronds - or Silindes, for that matter.

But he couldn't, he told himself firmly, and he wouldn't. He had a long list of priorities, and work was at the very top.


	3. Glorfindel's Hopes and Expectations

Chapter 3: Glorfindel's Hopes and Expectations

**We were re-watching LotR last night (I'm staying at Paula's house for a few days) and GOSH. I can't believe the hobbit trilogy is over and done. I'll miss this fandom's new movies a lot, even though I know there probably won't be a Silmarillion TV show (PFFT Peter Jackson, do you think a BALROG ARMY IS POSSIBLE? How are you going to do a CG Morgoth?) but the fandom goes on, I think, in fanfiction and fanart and rereading Tolkien's fantastic books.**

"Balrog-Boy" was now reclining happily in the gardens, lying on a bench with his feet propped up on one of its arms. He was wearing a thick flannel tunic, and the air was nice and cool. The world could not possibly get any better.

He'd been given the news of the day – Thranduil was hosting a spring festival in Greenwood. Glorfindel liked parties, but he liked Thranduil's best mead even better – the sweet kind, of course. He didn't like getting drunk, and thanks to the Elvenking's sensible wife, most of the Greenwood Winery's products were now less alcoholic.

The Balrog-Slayer sighed happily. A week or so with his friends, celebrating the coming of spring, eating rich, hearty Greenwood fare… he didn't have anything against the Lady of Light or her realm (in fact, he was good friends with Haldir and his brothers), but Lothlorien food was a bit… airy. Airy, crispy, delicate, teasing the taste buds; overall passable, but Glorfindel liked a good, filling meal. Not tiny tidbits.

Lindir, his new student, was doing quite well in his studies. He had good reflexes sharp eyes – if only the elf could develop more strength. But oh well, he thought. No matter. It'll come in time with training.

Lindir of course was quite anxious to see the extremely well-known halls of Greenwood the Great – and, Glorfindel assumed, to listen to the wonderful sound of their even more extremely well-known tournaments. There was bound to be one. Glorfindel wanted to sign up for it. Archery, fencing, throwing knives, and obstacle courses were well enough, but the subtler arts of riddles, playing instruments, acrobatics (a common pastime of the Guards' new recruits), and hide-and-seek (it seemed a childish game at first, but the skills of camouflage, unexpected ambushes, trap-making, and silent movement made the game far more deadly than child's play) were also part of the grand scheme.

He was definitely looking forward to it.

Glorfindel stood and stretched, before deciding to go visit Erestor. No doubt the cranky advisor had something to look forward to at the festival. After all, Erestor was bound to like the breathtaking architecture of the 'halls of stone'…

"NOT GOING?" bellowed Glorfindel.

Erestor winced.

"_What do you mean, you're not going_?"

"Kindly lower your voice," hissed Erestor. "Good grief, I knew you could yell, but I didn't know you could yell _that _loud. And no, I am not going anywhere. DONE. That's it. No nothing. My final decision. I am _not _going anywhere, you – you – you – " He shook his fist at the pacing warrior, unable to find a suitable insult.

"But why?" said Glorfindel, calming down slowly. "It's loads of fun. Thranduil's father was no party elf, I'll give you that, but the Elvenking knows fun when he sees it. Besides, you've never seen the inside of the palace. It's terrifically designed." He gave Erestor a sly look that said, 'I know you well enough to understand your interests.'

"I've been to Greenwood twice now," admitted Erestor, "but no, I've never seen the palace's interior. This makes it different… Hm… So – "

"Yes?" said Glorfindel, grinning. Erestor was going to agree for sure this time!

"So," said Erestor shortly, "you can tell me all about it when you get home."

Ignoring Glorfindel's wail of anguish, he dipped his pen into the inkwell and began to rely to a particularly waspish elf who wanted to know why Elrond's garden did not have pink-tipped tulips.

Glorfindel yanked him off his feet just as he was writing, "… is severly allergic to pink tipped – ".

Kicking and swatting at the golden-haired warrior, Erestor panicked and threw a swing at the Balrog-slayer's head. He missed, and tried to bite the nearest thing: Glorfindel's arm. Luckily, Glorfindel dodged it and grasped Erestor by the collar again.

"Let go of me, you dastardly, manipulative, HALF-WITTED ORC!" snapped Erestor.

He tried to kick Glorfindel in the shin but overshot and hit the table instead. As Glorfindel clucked his tongue sympathetically, saying, "That must have hurt, your poor toe," Erestor watched his beloved inkwell teeter one way, totter the other, and spill all its contents over his paperwork.

"NO!" shrieked Erestor. "You great galumphing FROG!"

Glorfindel was so shocked to hear his glorious golden self called a 'great galumphing frog" that he loosened his hold ever so slightly on Erestor's collar.

Erestor wriggled to the ground, his face as thunderous and wrathful as it could get.

"_Look what you made me do_, you stupid little mutton chop!" howled Erestor in outrage. "I HAVE WORK TO DO, YOU CACKLING CROCKPOT, SO GO SPAR OR WHATEVER and by all that's good and sensible, _LEAVE ME ALONE_!"

He quite literally kicked Glorfindel out his study, watching darkly as the Balrog-slayer flew into the hall, over the heads of twenty innocently conversing elves, and into the fountain outside, landing dramatically with a humongous splash.

Erestor slammed his door, double-locked it, and put three large chairs before it just in case anyone managed to get through the locks.

He smiled and went back to work.

Lindir had been strolling through the gardens, admiring the daffodils, when something large, muscled, and golden-haired went flying over his head. It landed with a splendid plop that sent sparrows flying off in unbridled terror.

"Glorfindel?" said Lindir incredulously (and a little uncertainly) when a golden head topped with a lovely lily pad emerged from the slimy depths of the fountain.

"Sweet Elbereth,"was all he could say.

"Sweet Elbereth indeed," muttered Elrond nearby, a short distance from the throng of whispering elves. "Oh, Manwe help me, I've gone mad. I _knew_ there was something in those lemon tarts - !"

He wandered away to the comfort of his room, leaving Lindir to deal with a bedraggled Glorfindel (who had crawled out of the fountain, tripped over a garden trowel, and landed smack on his face).

Sweet _Elbereth_!


	4. Paperwork

Chapter 4: Paperwork

"Of course I know there's a spring festival," said Lindir, once Glorfindel had taken a shower and changed out of his sopping wet clothes. The golden-haired warrior waited for his long luscious locks to dry; a task that required patience and sunlight. He rubbed strands of his hair with a cloth but to no avail. After all, it _was_ winter. Glorfindel's hair was more likely to freeze into tiny icicles.

"Why do you ask?"

Lindir hastily slipped on his fleece-lined robe. Cold drafts were sneaking in through the window Glorfindel had opened.

Glorfindel impatiently explained Erestor's refusal to go.

"Ah," said Lindir thoughtfully, after he finished processing this. "Erestor always has work, I've noticed. Sometimes it's cataloguing books, or helping Elrond write thank-you cards. And I wouldn't be very surprised to hear that he's writing responses for the letters in Elrond's mailbox."

"That's the problem!" Glorfindel huffed. "Erestor's a birdbrain and a stuffy, stuck-up pain in the neck, but he needs a break too, you know."

"I absolutely agree," said Elrond, materializing out of nowhere.

Lindir jumped, and hurriedly cleared his throat.

Apparently, the Lord of Rivendell had deemed it safe to venture out of his room.

"Erestor works hard," said Elrond, rubbing his chin. "Too hard, in my opinion. I appreciate the effort, and I do appreciate the amount of work he gets done in an hour, but I've always told him not to stress himself."

"See?" roared Glorfindel.

Lindir thought that with Glorfindel's fighting skills, large appetite, and large enthusiasm, he could actually pass for a dwarf. A tall, arrogant, slightly stupid dwarf, that is.

"He needs a vacation," said Lindir distractedly.

"We both agree," said the twins as they popped out of the closet.

Lindir jumped so high he nearly hit his head on the ceiling.

"Lovely hat collection in there, by the way," said Elladan. Or was it Elrohir?

"I really liked the one with the feathers," said Elrohir. Or was it Elladan?

Elrond rubbed his temples.

"_AHA_!" Glorfindel yelled, causing Lindir to jump once again, managing to slip on the floor and land on his tailbone very hard.

"We'll help Erestor finish his paperwork!" said Glorfindel triumphantly.

There was a pause.

"So that he can go to the spring festival," he added.

"I'm in for it," said Lindir. "But… how do we hide it from him? It's not like we can snitch fifteen piles of paperwork from the study and not get caught by Erestor. He'll get angry and throw _me_ into the fountain."

"Better you than me," said Glorfindel with a shudder. "Once was quite enough, thank you."

They (well, Lindir, Glorfindel, and the twins, seeing as Elrond had other matters to attend to), traipsed toward the advisor's study, whispering their plans and nodding as Elrohir assigned them roles in the grand plan.

They turned the corner, and there stood the door to Erestor's study.

Glorfindel reached there first and was about to open the door when Elladan stopped him (at least, Lindir assumed it was Elladan).

Elladan pressed his ear to the door and tapped it lightly.

He nodded grimly. "Double-locked, with furniture placed strategically to keep away unwanted visitors."

Lindir stared at him, dumbfounded, then shrugged. He wasn't about to question a thief's methods. If Elrond was here, he'd probably chastise the twins for attempting to break into a room, but they hadn't the time to scold each other. At least, not if they wanted to go to the spring festival.

With a bit of wire and a spoon (Lindir didn't ask), the twins quietly undid the locks.

"All right," said a twin, probably Elrohir."Erestor put three chairs behind this to stop the door from opening fully, but he conveniently forgot that the door opens the other way. His means we'll have to yank hard and hop over furniture. Then – Glorfindel's got the rope. You know what to do after we get in."

Everyone nodded.

"One… two… three!"

The door swooped open and the twins leaped seamlessly over the tumbling chairs. Glorfindel did too, and Lindir swept the chairs outside, closed the door, and locked it twice.

Erestor, who had been feverishly scribbling on a piece of parchment, looked up with a start.

They allowed him to shriek once before Glorfindel had him bound and gagged to his chair.

"Lovely work," said Elrohir admiringly. "Erestor, don't you worry. We're here to help you."

Erestor kicked him in the stomach.

Years of training and a soldier's quick reflexes made Elrohir move faster than lightning. He nimbly dodged the slippered foot.

"I have permission from my father to do this," said Elladan, which was a half-truth, but it convinced Erestor, "so do hold still."

He took a little bottle from his pocket, ripped his sleeve, dipped the cloth into the liquid, and waved it under Erestor's nose.

The advisor slumped, unconscious.

"Now for the work," said Elladan.

They used pens from Erestor's hoard and wrote reply and reply. Some were short answers, like: "We do not wear pink in Rivendell because it is undignified and rather silly" and some were long: "The recipe for lembas bread has been handed down the family for generations. Currently Lady Celebrian is the most recent to have received it, but Lady Galadriel also has a copy. If you wish to try lembas, visit Lothlorien and ask for a taste."

They dipped and wrote and folded and sealed, and addressed and stamped and signed until their arms were sore. Lindir tried to keep his handwriting neat and readable, and sealed the letters carefully, and consulted the twins when he needed to know something, but otherwise, he worked as fast as he could. Before he knew it, his stack of tottering questions were answered and were sitting in the basket marked "DONE".

Glorfindel's replying was more to-the-point, and he would have finished long before Lindir was it not for is too-beautiful calligraphy that got him a bit sidetracked.

The twins' handwriting was passable, and their replies had a bit more detail. When they finished their stacks, Lindir was sure many elves would appreciate the information. After all, it was quite interesting to learn about the history of the recipe for lembas bread.

They lit candle after candle, opened new boxes of wax and pen nibs, and plunged their wax seals hour after hour. The light grew dim and the chatter outside the room quietened. The piles and piles of paperwork, standing on tables and chairs and occupying the ground, gradually shrank and shrank until there was a small stack of ten letters left.

"Better leave that for Erestor tomorrow," yawned Glorfindel, "or he'll get cranky because there's no work to do."

"And I'll ask my father to stop letting people put their complaints in his mailbox," said Elrohir sleepily.

"Good thought," mumbled Lindir.

And as the candles died and turned into curling smoke, one by one, the four elves fell asleep, their heads illuminated by the light of the stars.


	5. A Celebration to Remember

Chapter 5: A Celebration to Remember

**YES (pats self on back) NEW CHAPTER**

**Happy summer vacation, those who live in North America! FREEDOM! (translation: no homework) Sigh... if only it were so... I have math and history to do over the summer, not to mention I'm learning JavaScript. Oh, and Japanese. Sindarin too?**

**THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS FREEDOM ANYMORE.**

**Carrying on, thank you so much if you even bothered to check out chapter 5. I've been lazy and busy with many things, but I'm back now, and I'm really glad I am! I just got baptized on Sunday, which I'm really happy about, and I've also been writing other fanfiction (for anime/etc.) and my own original stories. Link in profile (I think...)**

**Lastly, I'm also planning a story about Lindir as a delivery boy. Not sure how it'll end up.**

"What is the meaning of this?" Erestor thought furiously.

It was morning. He had been bound and gagged, and his head hurt like an oliphaunt had trodden on it several times. The advisor shook his head from side to side violently until the cloth around his mouth came loose (whoever had tied the knot was evidently lacking in skill). He blinked groggily, the sun's beams piercing his eyes in a most aggravating fashion, and kicked Glorfindel, who had slumped over himself on the floor.

"OUCH!" yelped the Balrog-slayer, promptly waking up.

"What's wrong with you?" hissed Erestor. "Get me out, Glorfindel, or I will hunt you down and rip all your limbs out of their sockets!"

"I thought you'd be more grateful," Glorfindel grumbled, rubbing his side. He tripped over Lindir's leg and frowned. "With us helping you out and all."

"All you managed to 'help me out' with is destroy my study!" Erestor said angrily. He could take Glorfindel and the twins pranking him from time to time, and he could bear with a jab or a smirk or a snort once in a while, but this time, they'd definitely crossed the line. Frankly, Erestor was quite surprised that Lindir had joined them in their troublemaking - but then again, Glorfindel must have coaxed him into it with the promise of cheese rolls. "Look at my ink pots! They're completely empty! My entire stack of paper has gone missing, not to mention my reserves! There's wax all over the floor, ink spots on my new table, and _look what you did to my pens!_"

"By the Valar," groaned Elladan, sitting up. The racket had made him wake up. He wrung out his hands, nudging his brother. "My wrists _hurt_. And I had the worst dream in my entire life - Rivendell was being overrun by _dwarves_ \- "

"Let us hope," said Elrohir, heaving himself onto his feet, "that you are not in possession of our esteemed Grandmother's prophetic visions. Good morning, Glorfindel, Erestor, Lindir."

"Lindir's still sleeping," said Glorfindel.

Lindir rolled over, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "cheese".

Erestor gave a shriek of rage.

"Get me out _this instant_, you little trolls!" he shouted, every shred of dignity and calmness immediately dissipating. "This mess will take ages to clean! I'll have to restock everything, not to mention get a new desk! How dare you - "

" - invade your study, tie you up, defile your tools, and finish most of your paperwork, which, had you stayed in Rivendell to finish them all, would've taken another century to complete?" came Elrond's voice from the door.

Erestor blinked.

Behind the elf lord stood several bickering cooks, three plum pudding-covered ladies-in-waiting, and an exasperated-looking elf holding the remains of a broken vase. Needless to say, though it was very early in the morning, Elrond was already at the end of his string of patience.

"Morning," Lindir said sleepily. He rubbed his eyes, his elbow accidentally upsetting the last inkwell, which tipped over with a crash, sending its contents onto the floor.

Erestor barely held back a wail of anguish.

"At any rate, you can come with us to Greenwood now, right?" Lindir continued, brushing of his tunic.

The advisor looked down at his lap, then back at his friends. Glorfindel was grinning broadly, despite the state of his bedhead, and the twins, undaunted by the large bags under their eyes, looked very satisfied. Lindir was yawning, but he looked content as well.

"You're welcome," the twins chorused smugly.

"I suppose this means I'll be going then," Erestor muttered reluctantly.

"YAHOO!" cried Lindir.

The twins turned, surprised to see that he was so happy about his friend's newfound freedom.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. Lindir had just heard a snippet of the cooks' argument, and now that they'd settled it, he was beyond happy.

"Let me guess," said Glorfindel very drily, "it's cheese rolls again for breakfast."

"Dead on," Elrond mumbled, shuffling out. "Tuen, it's just plum pudding - _no, Arwen, you are not permitted to wear that dress to the festival_ \- "

Realization struck him and Erestor allowed himself a small, delighted smile.

He was going to the spring festival!

"HA," Elrohir crowed suddenly, pointing at the advisor. "He smiled! Elladan, you owe me seven pastries! I WON THE BET!"

To which Erestor replied quite crudely, "Keep your mouth shut, you little reptile."


End file.
